It wont get under my nose
by tigertutu
Summary: Just a oneshot drabble about a headcanon I've had for Bebe for a while. Written in the point of view of her gossip collector. It should become clear who it is towards the end (well, I hope). Rated for language.


It's tough being me. I'm only twelve, but I've managed to nab the best full time job known to man. I get to go everywhere; dress up in disguises and do dirty work and never get suspected for it.

I work for this chick at school; a one Miss Bebe Stevens. Very pretty girl, but totally devious and manipulative when she wanted to be. She paid very well for my services; and upped the cost if she thought it was a bit more dangerous. It's what I liked more about her; she cared for my safety. That and she didn't want my older brother finding out what I was doing. He'd lecture me for hours and then start a war with her. Nope; we kept our noses very low to the ground.

She has her other snoops in the school. Like Karen and Kenny McCormick (that duo is sneaky as shit; its brilliant since they're so trustworthy), and I believe she has that weird Red Goth and even Ruby Tucker wound around her little finger.

She always said I was her best; her favourite.

So I had gotten this text right? After my mother's stupid one. It was from her. She has this codename that looks like a group or school club I've joined so no one suspects a thing.

It had two words; go west.

I knew what it was about. Apparently something went down, and that weirdo British kid upped and left. I wasn't particularly fazed by it, but this was one of Bebe's close friends. Who was I to refuse her pleads of help? If it meant that much; I would waver the fee too. This was different than my regular line of work after all.

So I hopped on my skateboard, grabbing my suit jacket as I rolled out the door and down the street. I started dressing myself as I weaved down the footpath, and to the bus station.

000

So, I don't actually know where I am, but it's a hotel somewhere. I ask for a room number, never taking my shades off, and never letting my guard down. They tell me gladly where to go; fucking idiots. No wonder the crime rate is so high.

I walk up the stair case situated in the rear of the lobby and once I hit the first floor looked around. I found the door I was searching for. Room 134. I knock once politely and wait.

I hear clinking on the other side, and a taller blonde male opens the door to me. His look of confusion is to be expected. I merely ask for his name. He willingly says it; Phillip Pirrup. Yup, this was the guy Bebe was talking about. I give a curt nod, a small thankyou and take my leave. He's probably confused as hell, but I can't let him follow me and start asking questions. That wasn't why I had come here.

Back on the bus and I send a text to my fair haired boss. _It's true._ Is all I wrote. Karen had obtained the bus number; and Kenny had a friend who saw him arrive at the hotel.

We were all sneaky little shits I guess.

000

Bebe is getting worried. I had been given a note via my brother from someone to hand over to her. She showed me the note; and I started to understand her sudden nerves to send me out anywhere for a while.

_I know what you're doing bitch._

It was a simple; yet moronic move. I made a snort of protest at it. I knew who it was; someone clearly not smart enough to type it out instead of handwriting it. The culprit was definitely male for starters, and had a beef against my boss. Really, the list was pretty small from there.

It probably wasn't Craig Tucker. Despite their disinterest in one another, Craig was actually intelligent and didn't feel the need to stoop down to this level. Tweek Tweak was a friend of Bebe's so it probably wasn't him. Clyde was her new boyfriend apparently; despite the rumours of her and Damien having a thing for each other (which if I knew, I would tell you. She's my boss, but I like the undercover work). So they were both ruled out. Which left three culprits; Eric Cartman. Nope, he was keeping his nose in line lately and his writing wasn't this messy. I'd gotten a hate letter from him once before.

Kyle Broflovki. Nope, not him. His writing was that of a girl's, and he didn't have a problem with Bebe. Probably because he was off limits when it came to gossip; that rule had come in quite early. By mine and Kenny's request.

So it had to be one guy; the last one left that I was disappointed in; but it came as no surprise.

Stan Marsh.

I shook my head at my conclusion; but I knew it was him. He was so perfect in every way so of course if Bebe got wind of anything abnormal about him he'd be ridiculed for life. Which I of course didn't want either; I liked the guy. Hell, probably a bit more than I should; specially at my age. I kept quiet about my findings, took my suspension on the chin and kept my neck hidden from everyone. Bebe couldn't even know the new undercover work I was about to begin with.

It was time to pay Stan Marsh a visit.


End file.
